Break In The Sun Till The Sun Breaks Down
by zippystripe
Summary: It's 2014 and Ian is trying to adjust to life after being kicked out of the army and a six month stint in juvie - not an easy task when he's surrounded by reminders of the life he'd lived before. It's especially hard now that his mind has decided to start playing tricks on him. All he can do is chase them away with whatever means necessary.
1. Chapter 1

February 2014

The early evening sunlight was fragmented by the blinds. Long strips of light fell over the crowded bedroom where Ian laid on his bed, holding the piece of paper that had ended his military career just under a year previously. He'd turned it over and over in his hands since being released from his six-month stint in juvie just before Christmas (when he'd enlisted the year before, ironically), and now the corners were dog-eared and frayed. He smirked to himself bitterly. He'd hoped to have a framed certificate on the wall like Lip had done with his High School Diploma – Lip, ever the golden boy of the family, the one with all the brains, the looks, who was _born_ with a ticket out of this shithole just by having good genes. Wherever the fuck they had come from.

At least he was doing something with his talents now, even if it had meant throwing Ian under the bus. Ian hadn't replied to his letters.

None of that was going to happen for Ian. He didn't have the brains like Lip did, so his dreams of being an officer were probably dead from the start. How deluded he'd been. The least he could've done was finish High School, but of course, that would've meant sticking around and watching the Milkovich asshole play house with his diseased whore of a wife.

Ian screwed the piece of paper up in his hand and bit back the tears that threatened to fall. No. He wasn't going to cry over that shithead again. He'd learned his lesson the last time he had – he'd spent a week nursing the black eye that had been planted on his face by his roommate, and that had been enough to teach him not to cry.

Things were going to be different from now on.

Standing, Ian took the discharge notice and placed it on the ashtray atop his chest of drawers, and drew his lighter from his back pocket. It sparked uselessly a couple of times before he touched the paper with a steady flame and watched it burn. As it did, he felt the old him finally wither away and die, as if it had been starving to death over the last year and had finally given up the ghost.

As a kid, Ian had been obsessed with firearms and the military. He'd not been particularly old when he'd fired his first shot – eight to be exact, standing under the L watching Frank finish up a drug deal with Terry Milkovich of all people. They'd been standing by a pillar seventy or so yards away when Ian had seen the gun atop what looked like a rusty filing cabinet, and he'd picked it up tentatively. He hadn't meant to, but his hands, fumbling and inexperienced, had accidentally pulled the trigger and the shot had sharply pierced the air.

Terry had taken one look at him and that was all Ian had needed to know. He'd dropped the gun and sprinted away from there, one of the meanest guys in the neighbourhood shouting expletives at him from the distance.

When Ian learnt about World War II a few years later, he'd plagued Fiona with questions about the Nazis until she clocked him around the head with ladle and told him to ask someone who wasn't currently trying to feed five annoying brats and study for a midterm exam simultaneously. He asked Lip, who'd then told him in quite graphic detail exactly what had been done to the millions of people in the concentration camps – and all the specific groups they tried to wipe out, including homosexuals. Ian didn't sleep for a week.

Regardless, his interest in the military slowly returned, as Ian decided that if people out there were still doing the same sort of things, the best thing he could do was try and stop them.

Ian didn't quite know when his reasons for joining the army had changed; that it was a good idea to use the army as place he could run to when things got tough, but it had happened anyway. Mickey had been right in one thing: it certainly was a dumbass move. He shouldn't have thrown away his dream because of one fucker, especially not one like Mickey Milkovich.

If one thing was for certain, it was that the army had changed him. He wasn't stupid and naïve like he had been before he'd left. He'd grown up a lot, to put it politely. Shooting another man dead had a way of doing that to people.

"Ian!" Carl yelled at him suddenly.

Ian glanced over at him and blinked stupidly. "Huh?"

"Move, dickface, you're lying on my sweater." He answered, tugging at it from underneath him.

"Oh, sorry," he replied, and lifted his hips up. It took him a moment to realise that it was now morning, and he'd been lying awake all night. He laid back down again when Carl had stomped off and down the stairs. He heard Fiona arguing with Debbie over something before the door finally slammed and a few minutes later he heard Fiona come up the stairs, fiddling around with her earrings and wearing only a skirt and a bra with two shirts over her arm. Ian had closed his eyes and was pretending to be asleep.

"I know you're awake, you little shit," she said.

Ian opened his eyes and looked up at her. She smirked.

When she was done pissing around with her hair in the mirror, she turned to face Ian. "Which one do you think works best?" She asked, holding up a red floral shirt and a purple one.

Ian looked between them for a minute. "The purple one. The red one makes you look like an angry Sunday school teacher."

Fiona smirked and slid the shirt on hastily and Ian rested his head back down on the mattress, hoping that that was the last of it.

"So are you going to get a job or just hibernate for the rest of the winter?" She asked, eyeing him disapprovingly.

Ian thought about it for a moment. "Probably gonna go with the hibernation," he replied tiredly.

Fiona picked up a magazine and hit him on the chest with it. "No, you won't," she snapped, and looked him right in the eye, rolling the magazine up and pointing at him with it as she spoke. "You're going to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get up off your ass. You're going to go to the Kash n' Grab and beg Linda for your old job back. And if she says no, you're going to get your ass down to the Alibi and see if Kev needs an extra pair of hands now that he's looking after the baby. But I swear to god, Ian, if you're still lying there by the time I get back tonight I'm going to kick you to the curb myself." She declared, and then frowned at him. "But if I were you, I'd take a shower first. You smell like burnt wood and weed."

Ian looked away from her and sighed, rolling over to face the wall. "Fine." He answered coldly.

Fiona stood up straight and put a hand on her hip, looking down at her little brother with a sigh and a confused shake of her head. Then she turned around and left. "Liam's at Sheila's," she called from down the hall, "pick him up at four."

An hour after Fiona left, Ian finally got up and took a shower. Looking down at himself, he didn't feel right. He'd stayed in shape while he was in juvie – Mickey'd been right, there really wasn't much to do in that place except work out. But where before he'd felt like he was working towards something… now it just felt pointless. But there was a part of him that liked working out, if not because of the army, but because it made him feel powerful, and that made him feel protected. And then there was the sex appeal part… Ian found that it hadn't exactly put the other soldiers off. Maybe he'd go to a gay bar later on tonight.

When he finally left the house, he started walking in the direction of the Alibi but somehow found himself walking towards the Kash n' Grab. He didn't know why, because he sure as fuck wasn't going back there again—way too many memories. Standing at the end of the street, he saw someone standing outside smoking a cigarette. Ian stood in the doorway of a dry cleaner's some way up the street and took a closer look. It didn't take him long to recognise the spiky black hair.

Ian hadn't been able to guess how he'd feel when he saw the other man again. He'd gone over and over it in his head. Sometimes he imagined lashing out at him, fighting him, and other times he imagined himself weakly and pathetically falling into bed with him again. As much as he hated himself for it, deep down he knew it would be the latter. The last thing he expected to feel was the same stupid butterfly feeling.

He was suddenly shoved out of the way by a slightly taller, older guy who spat on the floor at his feet. "Get out of my doorway, shithead," he grunted.

Ian glared at him and stepped off the tiled floor of the doorway. He was about to turn and walk away when the guy's fist suddenly connected with his jaw and he staggered backwards a few steps to lean on a parking meter. "Fuck…" He grunted, straightening his jaw out and spitting blood on the floor.

The guy smirked and went for him again, but Ian winded him by pulling the same move he'd pulled with Mickey over a year ago now, when the other boy had started beating up Ned outside the Fountain. The man choked and gasped for breath and Ian walked toward him, kicking him in the chest and then in the balls. "Fucking asshole!" He shouted, and began kicking him over and over again. He felt something snap inside of him, like he had just opened a floodgate, and he couldn't do anything except act on the pure impulse it held. He would've kept going if he wasn't pulled away from him by a pair of arms around his shoulders.

"Gallagher!" Mickey shouted, pulling the younger boy backwards and away from the man, who was curled in on himself in the doorway. "Jesus-!"

Ian leaned back on the older boy and looked around blindly, panting and sweating a little. "The fuck," he panted.

"Shit," Mickey said, loosening his grip as the guy started to stand up. "Ian, come on," Mickey said quietly, tugging on his arm, "before they call the cops."

The redhead started to follow the older boy out of pure instinct, still feeling completely disoriented from his outburst. They ran under the staircase of the L and into an alley like they had done before. They ran through buildings until they were deep enough in the labyrinth of alleys and backstreets not to be found, before the two of them leant on the wall side by side to catch their breaths. Ian buried his face in his hands and when he looked up, Mickey was grinning at him from the side and panting.

"Fuck, Firecrotch!" He said enthusiastically. "How long you been back?"

Ian didn't reply, nor did he smile back at him. He just closed his eyes and rested his head back on the wall behind him.

"I haven't seen you for over a fuckin' year, man," he continued, leaning forward on his knees and looking up at him.

Ian nodded, his breaths evening out.

"So how long you been back?"

"Since December," Ian finally replied.

The brunet looked a little confused and furrowed his brow with a smile. "Two months?"

Ian nodded.

"I heard from Mandy that they caught you," Mickey said with a smile.

"Hn."

"I can't believe you used your brother's ID to enlist…" Mickey laughed with a smile and a shake of his head, "such a fuckin' rookie mistake."

Ian glared at him. He seriously had the fucking balls to laugh at him?

"I heard they sent you to juvie, too." Mickey added quietly, the smile falling from his face.

"Yep."

"That sucks man. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That you got sent to juvie." He drew his cigarettes from his back pocket as well as a lighter. He took a drag before passing it to the redhead.

Ian took it but didn't say anything. He wanted to, but it felt like the words were stuck in his throat.

"Anyways…" Mickey turned to look at him with genuine affection; a look that Ian rarely saw and which he had practically burnt into his memory. "I'm glad you're okay."

He wasn't.

"I mean… I'm glad you're not dead."

He wasn't.

"Fuck, Gallagher!" Mickey said after another moment of silence. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You look like one of those kids from the fuckin' Children of the Corn."

"Nothing," Ian lied. "Anyways… I gotta get back. I need to get a job before my sister throws me out."

"Why don't you come back to the store?"

_Shit._ "I don't know, man. It's just-"

"Why not?" Mickey asked, looking a little annoyed. "I thought you would've wanted to come back."

_Because you're there._

"I just need a new start, you know?" Ian said.

Mickey snorted. "You serious?"

_This is for your own good._ "Yeah. I mean… if I don't find anything, I might ask Linda later on."

"Why bother looking for something else? She's been lookin' to hire somebody else since the other bitch she hired started stealing shit," Mickey explained. "You know she'll take you back on if you just ask."

"Maybe." _No, not maybe. Tell him you never want to see him again and move the fuck on._

Mickey gave him a weird look. "Jesus, is this about-"

"So where's Mandy?" Ian asked. "I haven't seen her."

Mickey scowled at him. "She's in Boston with your brother. Didn't she tell you?"

Mandy had sent him letter after letter explaining how sorry she was that Lip had had to tell them about the stolen identity, but that he couldn't expect Lip to give up his chance at college and, clearly, her chance of getting out of the South Side , just so Ian could stay in the army.

"She's probably just busy." Ian said, folding his arms.

Mickey obviously didn't believe him. He just shook his head and smirked. "Anyway. I'd better get back to work. Wife's gonna have my ass if I lose this job."

Ian snorted a little louder than he'd meant to, and Mickey turned to face him. "You're still with the hooker?" Ian asked, looking at the older boy with a raised eyebrow.

Mickey frowned at him. "Yeah." He replied firmly, as if there was nothing wrong.

Ian shook his head and turned to walk away.

"Hey!" Mickey called after him. Ian ignored him and kept on walking. "Ian!"

May 2014

Ian managed to convince Kev to take him on for a trial period at the Alibi. It wasn't ideal, since he was probably going to run into a lot of faces he'd rather not see (namely, Terry), plus he'd be spending more time listening to Frank prattle on about some shit that made no sense. But a job was a job, and since Lip had now left for college, he wasn't contributing as much these days save for a weekly fifty dollars he wired into Fiona's account, he knew he had to get a job. Debbie still ran the day care and Carl had started shoplifting, but they were still strapped for cash.

It took about a week before Terry finally visited the Alibi. Ian had been lucky so far since he'd started in March, as up until the shift rota had changed Ian seemed to be working mornings, when Terry tended to come in during the afternoon.

He didn't notice Ian at first, but the redhead simply continued wiping down the bar quietly and trying not to catch his attention. Glancing over at him, he watched him as he and the two other guys he was with started a game of a pool, completely blind to him. Ian started to keep a close eye on the time, wishing away the last hour of his shift. He went round the back and busied himself with bringing in the crates from the back alley.

The last thing he expected was the sudden appearance of the Milkovich patriarch, standing above him as he suddenly lay winded on the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Ian woke up a couple of hours later on a bench in the Alibi. Kate was standing in front of him holding his jaw and trying to get him to look her in the eye.

"Ian?" She asked, her voice sounding a little muffled.

He blinked a few times and looked around blearily, furrowing his brow.

"Ian!" The barmaid snapped, and held up two fingers in front of him. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Ian looked at her hand for a minute and blinked a few times. "Two," he answered groggily.

"Well, you ain't brain damaged at least. Here," she replied with a sigh, handing him a glass of water and two tablets, "take these. They'll help with the headache later on."

Ian took the pills without asking, swallowing the two of them down and taking a few gulps of water.

"Did you see who hit you?" She asked, moving to sit on the bench next to him.

Ian shook his head.

"Shit. I went out there to see what was takin' you so long and I found you passed out with blood all over your face."

Ian winced and rubbed his head.

"You sure you didn't see anyone?" She asked.

"Yes," Ian replied, and went to stand up. He wobbled a little, but caught himself on the nearby table.

"Woah, careful!" Kate caught him with a laugh and helped him stand up straight. Ian noticed the bloody towel she'd slung over her shoulder and his heart stopped.

"I-is that mine?" Ian asked, pointing at it.

Kate looked between him and the towel. "Yeah, you just had a bit of a nosebleed. It's fine now though. You don't look too bad."

Ian stared at it. Suddenly, he was standing in a corridor with sand-coloured walls, looking at the floor. His eyes travelled along the white tiles until he saw a hand with dirtied fingernails. It took him a moment to realise that it was a body lying on the floor, and the red beneath it was slowly flooding outwards and filling the gaps between the tiles and painting the floor. The smell of gunpowder was filling his nostrils, and the man's lips moved as if he was trying to speak. Everything was silent, like a bomb had just gone off and there should have been ringing everywhere, but instead it was silence and it rang like tinnitus in the air as Ian stared ahead at the man. A gun not that different to his own rested on his torso close to the entry would, right through the heart, and his blood drenched the white fabric of his clothes.

He was suddenly pulled back by his battle buddy, and he gasped as he realised that he was back in the pub with Kate shaking him by the shoulders.

"Ian!" She yelled, and Ian blinked, his heart beating a mile and minute and his head and palms sweating.

"I have to go," he said suddenly, "thank you." He grabbed his coat from the bar and ran out of the door before Kate could stop him.

When Ian got home, the house was dark. He turned the light in the kitchen on and panted. He ripped his coat off and threw it on the floor, grabbing his head in his hands and pacing back and forth. He went into the living room and sat down on the couch, leaning forward and putting his hands between his knees, clutching his hands behind his head and panting breathlessly. He was sweating despite the late-winter cold and unpaid heating bill, and he ripped his shirt off over his head as he tried to slow his breathing.

Eventually, he practiced some of the breathing exercises he'd picked up from his physical training, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his mind. It took a few tries before his heart stopped speeding up again right when he'd calmed it down. He'd had this before, a few days after… what had had happened. He'd been out of it for a few days, not talking to anyone. Ian supposed he'd probably been in shock. It wasn't until one of the other soldiers had sat down on his bunk one evening and spoken to him about it that he'd been able to talk again.

After a few minutes, Ian stood up shakily, feeling a shiver run down his spine. He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, taking out a beer and twisting the top off. He took a few large gulps and leaned back against the counter with a sigh.

This was never going to end, was it?

It was a terrifying notion, made more frightening by the fact that deep inside him, Ian knew it was true. He was never going to feel the same way again. He'd never go to sleep and not see the guys face as he died. He'd never stop wondering about who he'd been, if he had family, friends… what he did before he'd become a terrorist, if he'd ever just been a normal guy… It was always going to haunt him.

Of course, Ian knew rationally that he hadn't really had a choice, and if he hadn't shot him then somebody else in his cell would've done, and if he hadn't then he probably would've gone on to kill another person, so it didn't really matter anyhow. But logic and emotion weren't always compatible; this Ian knew all too well.

He downed the rest of his beer and threw the bottle in the trash to take a shower. As he washed the rest of the crusted blood off of his face, he found himself transfixed at the way it trickled off of him and into the drain. The man's face flashed behind his eyelids again, and Ian gasped, feeling himself start to hyperventilate again. Stepping out of the shower he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, moving to sit on the toilet and slow his breathing again. He felt light-headed for a moment, then like he was floating above the room and looking down at himself. Ian had had the inexplicable feeling for months that his soul had left his body, but it had never been quite as intense as this.

After a few more minutes of trying to catch his breath, Ian opened the cabinet rummaged around until he found an old prescription of Valium tucked away behind a few bottles (to his surprise, as drugs didn't last long with Frank around the house). He swallowed two of them dry and then went to bed. He hadn't slept in days, and if he wanted to function without passing out every five minutes then he was going to have to get some sleep.

It was restless, as Ian had expected. It was as if he couldn't shut off his mind, like he was back at the military base in Afghanistan and had to be on constant alert. He dreamt of the man over and over, like it was on loop in his brain. Every now and then the vision changed and his subconscious thought up newer and weirder ways to freak him out. On one occasion the man had been Frank, and on another one it was Lip, and so on. The one that freaked him out the most, though, was when it was Mickey.

The strangest thing about it though, was that Mickey was happy. He was happy that Ian had shot him and he was laughing. In the dream, Ian was devastated. He felt the grief of it tear through his chest so lucidly that in his dream he began bleeding – first from his chest and then from his face where Terry had hit him. When he looked back at Mickey's face, the older boy had the cuts and bruises from when his father had pistol-whipped him and there was blood everywhere.

Suddenly, the dream changed, and Mickey's wounds were healed. He was laying beneath Ian, his brows knitted together and biting his lip they way he did when they fucked. The sounds were coming from Ian too, but the redhead was transfixed with the way the older body's back arched in front of him or under him; the way he pushed their chests together and how his freckles covered every inch of his body; how his hair was jet black on his head and on his stubble and lighter everywhere else; his dirty laugh, the way he said Ian's name; how bright the blush looked on his white flesh; how his eyes became almost black when they'd sat in semi-darkness watching movies on his stolen TV; how bossy he was in bed. How gentle his hands were when he touched Ian and how they brushed against his when they shared a cigarette or a joint. The way his nose pressed against Ian's face when they'd finally kissed; the way his tongue had tasted of him and his cigarettes the first time it had slid into his mouth.

His dream had oddly turned to that now, and Ian relished in it while it lasted. As expected, the dream changed again soon after, and they were back in the Milkovich house, with Ian sat on one side and Mickey on the other fucking the Russian whore. The scene played out in his head over and over until it stopped, and Ian was in the corridor again, looking down at the man who'd looked down at him that same evening in the alley behind the Alibi.

Only this time, it was different. Ian wasn't horrified like he had been with all the others. He felt good standing above him, pointing a gun at the bastard's head and grinning. He relished in it almost as much as he'd relished in his dream of Mickey. As he pointed the AK-47 at his head and pulled the trigger, there was no remorse as there had been before.

And when Ian woke up, he knew what he had to do.

June 2014

Ian quit his job at the Alibi the following day. The last thing he needed was to deal with that asshole night after night. He'd had to deal with the backlash from Fiona at quitting his job before he found a new one, but he'd calmed her down when he told her that he had scored a few kilos of bud from the secret stash of a friend who'd been caught dealing. He'd promised to do a few rounds in the ice cream truck with Kev.

A few nights later, he was in a club on the North Side and was on his way out of the men's room after getting blown when he'd spotted the notice just being put up by the barman on the wall. When the guy had left, Ian snatched it down again and read over the words 'bouncer needed'. He folded it up idly and walked over to the bar.

"Excuse me!" He shouted over the loud music.

The barman leant forward so that Ian could shout into his ear. "The bouncer job, how much is it an hour?" Ian asked loudly.

The barman eyed him disbelievingly. "You're not exactly what they're looking for," he shouted back with a smirk.

Ian stepped back and lifted his shirt to show off his muscles. The barman raised an eyebrow and smirked indulgently. Ian leaned forward again. "I've been in ROTC and I have military experience. I'm more than qualified," Ian explained.

The barman looked him over again and then leant forward once more. "I can see that, honey. The interviews are Friday at 10AM. Fifteen bucks an hour. Don't be late."

Ian smiled.

One of the many perks of being a bouncer at a gay club was that it was easy as fuck to get laid. Plus he was allowed frequent breaks and there was never really much trouble apart from the odd lover's spat and people trying to get in on invite-only nights. So as it turned out, working as a bouncer didn't really bother him as much as he'd thought it would, especially since just the sight of his own blood had caused him to have a flurry of panic attacks and a night filled with weird-as-fuck dreams. He even found a way of making extra cash when an underage kid slipped him a twenty.

Two weeks into starting his new job, Ian was already pretty integrated with some of the staff. One of the barmen, Zack, had nervously fumbled over his words one evening and had asked him out on a date to 'some new Vietnamese restaurant down the street'. Zack was nice enough; he was shorter than Ian, like Mickey, but not quite as built and with as much innocence as someone from the south side could have. He had black hair cut close to his scalp, not spiked up, but not too short either, and grey eyes that always seemed a little sunken on pale skin. He could've been Mickey's little brother, truth be told, but he was way too nice to be a Milkovich. He had lived with his mother not far from Canaryville before getting disowned when he announced that he was gay just before his graduation. He'd subsequently moved to live with his father on the North Side. He came from a family of hippy-types - supposedly his dad had been a roadie in the sixties for some band Ian had never heard of, but apparently it meant that he was totally into civil rights. He'd even become a lawyer to help out all those 'marginalised minorities', or some shit. His older sister was an activist for WWF and was always abroad someplace trying to save the whales or the pandas or whatever. It sounded nice to Ian, anyway, to have at least one good parent.

Naturally, Ian had kept a lot of his own details omitted – he hadn't wanted to scare him away, after all. The date actually turned out to be okay though, which was unexpected.

"So what about you?" Zack asked after finishing a rather long story about his unfaithful ex.

Ian paused mid-way through lifting his glass to his lips. "Couple of guys." He answered.

Zack was quiet for a moment and blinked at him. "…And?" He asked.

Ian was quiet. He hadn't expected to talk about his love life. "Does it matter?" He fired back.

Zack paused, looking at him uncertainly. "Oh, shit," he replied. "You're on the rebound, aren't you?" He brought one hand up to his mouth in surprise. "I'm sorry, I thought that - I thought that I was clear? I want a boyfriend, Ian."

Ian looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Rebound?" He laughed. "Dude, it was over a year ago. I'm over it already." He lied.

Zack leaned back again in his chair. "Then why are you so secretive about it?"

"Fuck!" Ian laughed in exasperation. "Why do you care so much?"

Zack was quiet for another moment. "I just want to be sure we're both going into this with a clean slate, is all." He leaned his elbows on the table. "Whatever 'this' is," he added dejectedly, pushing his dessert around with a spoon.

Ian sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Look, I just…" He began. "It just ended badly, okay? I'd rather not talk about it."

Zack nodded in understanding and then told him a joke that wasn't funny.

Ian fucked him in the backseat of his car. It was cramped - his dad had got it for him from some dealer he knew, and it was pretty old. They'd managed though, as Ian had wrapped his arms around his waist and jackhammered into him from below as the younger boy rode him, clinging to the front seat and Ian's shoulder desperately. He either didn't hear him, or he was just nice enough not to say anything when Ian had breathed out Mickey's name as he came.

They shared a joint afterwards and Ian turned his head away when he tried to kiss him.

Another week later and Ian had been caught out when Veronica noticed the hickey on his neck.

"So who is he, stud?" She asked through cackles, bouncing her baby girl on her hip.

"Just a guy from the club," Ian answered, smiling a little and looking away.

"When are we going to meet him, then?" Fiona asked with a smile as she counted money on the table.

"Never, hopefully," Ian replied, pulling his jacket on.

Fiona and Veronica looked at each other and laughed evilly, like they had just come up with a diabolical plan. Ian glanced between them.

"What?" He asked.

"Nice try." Fiona said with a raised eyebrow.

Ian would've perhaps stayed to find out exactly what she was planning, but he had work to do. Shaking his head with a smile, he headed out towards Mickey's through the front door, taking the bat with him.

Terry was usually out at this time of day, but Ian had heard through an acquaintance of Frank's at the Alibi that he was out of town for a few days on a drug run – and not just any drug run, but a big one (a container had just come in with a few hundred thousand dollars worth of cocaine and so all the Milkovich boys had been called in to distribute it), so the house was likely to be empty. But to be careful, he looked through the window and promised himself to be quick. He jogged up the steps and knocked on the door a few times to see if anyone was home, but there was no answer. He pissed around with the lock a few times until the door clicked open, and he stepped inside quietly.

It hadn't changed much at all. The TV, the couch, the guns lying around the house… Ian felt everything coming back to him. He glanced over at the coffee table and started to look for the gun he'd seen the last time he was here. He couldn't find it in the living room and he had to be careful not to move anything noticeable, and as he slowly walked through the house he made as little noise as possible in case someone was in.

Glancing around the kitchen, Ian didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He walked back into the living room and took one more look before he found himself staring in the direction of Mickey's bedroom door. Shaking his head, he was about to leave, but his curiosity got the better of him at the last minute and he kicked the door of Mickey bedroom open and stepped inside.

It hadn't changed all that much, really. There were a few tiny dresses on hangers and Ian sneered at the fishnet stocking that hung out of a drawer. She could have at least tried to not be a total stereotype, Ian thought with a roll of his eyes. There didn't appear to be any baby things in sight though, so Ian guessed that that part must have been a lie at the very least. He walked around the foot of the bed and smirked at the sleeping bag on the bed. Where one side was fairly neat, it was easy to tell which side was Mickey's. Ian ran his fingers over the camouflage print on the fabric before he sat down and picked it up. He didn't remember giving it to Mickey, but as Ian turned it inside out, he saw the words 'IAN GALLAGHER' written in marker. He laughed and shook his head, before he lifted it to his face and buried his nose in it. It was probably a pretty creepy thing to do, Ian thought, but technically it _did_ belong to him, so whatever, right? It smelled like it hadn't been washed for quite a while, which was expected. But there was also the smell of cigarettes and the faint scent of weed and alcohol, as well as something that was unmistakeably masculine and fleshy.

Ian jerked his head up as he heard the front door slam and footsteps stomping into the kitchen, and he dropped the sleeping bag on the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Ian swore under his breath and stood up so fast that he knocked over a machete that had been leaning against the nightstand. The handle thudded on the floor loudly and Ian winced. The noises that he'd heard in the kitchen suddenly stopped and he tip-toed toward the bathroom. He accidentally knocked over an empty beer can that had been on the chest of drawers and Ian froze as it fell loudly onto the floorboards.

"Hey asswipe!" Mickey yelled from behind the door. "You picked the wrong fuckin' house!"

Ian's eyes widened. Wasn't he meant to be on a drug run?

"Mickey?" Ian yelled back.

Mickey kicked open the door and lowered the handgun in his hands with a confused look on his face. "What the fuck, Gallagher?"

Ian blinked at him nervously. "Uh… hi," he answered weakly.

Mickey walked towards him with a weird look on his face. "Did you break into my fuckin' house?"

"No. I mean, technically, yeah. Legally, I mean." Ian said quietly.

"…Why?" Mickey asked.

"Uh…"

"Were you lookin' for me?"

"Uh… yes." Ian replied dumbly.

"Heh," the older boy said with a smirk. "I knew you couldn't keep away."

Ian rolled his eyes inwardly. Mickey tossed the gun onto the bed and then lifted his vest up and off over his head.

"So, why are you home?" Ian asked, looking away from the Milkovich boy and trying to change the subject. "I thought there was a shipment coming in, or something."

Mickey looked at him in confusion. "How do you know that?" He asked, stepping closer to Ian with a smirk.

Ian stuttered a little. "I just heard from one of your dad's buddies at the Alibi." Ian answered.

Mickey smirked. "And you thought you'd break into my house while everyone was gone."

"…On the off chance that you'd be here, yeah." Ian replied.

Mickey grinned at him and stopped just a few inches in front of him. "You do realise that if any if my dad or any of my brothers had caught you here, you'd have a bullet between your eyeballs right now?"

Ian smirked. "Well, you know, live fast die young."

Mickey laughed in confusion. "What the fuck's gotten into you, Firecrotch? First you go and fuck up your chance in the army and now you're breaking into people's houses?"

Ian didn't say anything for a moment, but he glanced down at the older boy's chest momentarily. There was a patch of sunburn on his left shoulder and the skin was starting to peel a little bit, and his freckles seemed darker on his arms and face.

Mickey followed his line of sight and smirked again.

Ian looked up at his face, his eyes dark. "Well, war changes people."

Mickey looked a little surprised for a moment, but it faded quickly.

"So do you have a gun I could borrow?" Ian asked suddenly, folding his arms.

"What?"

"I came to see if you had what I was looking for."

"It depends on what it is you're looking for." Mickey replied after a moment.

"AK-47."

Mickey laughed. "Seriously? What, you got some more terrorists to kill?"

Ian winced a bit internally. "I just wanna keep up with my aim, is all."

"And you need an assault rifle to do that?" Mickey asked. "I usually just use a handgun. Maybe we could hang out under the L sometime."

"Hn," Ian replied, "maybe. So do you have one?"

"Should have. Come with me."

They walked into the kitchen where Mickey opened a cupboard that looked like it had been a pantry at one point and Ian's eyes widened. It was like a thug start-up kit. Masks, knives, guns, batons, a couple of samurai swords and even a fucking riot shield. He should've been disturbed and he was in a way, but somehow the terror went hand in hand with the excitement. The redhead laughed as Mickey sorted through a few guns and then pulled out the AK-47 and turned to hand it to him.

"One of my brothers built it from parts, so there's no serial number or anything. It's totally untraceable if you fuck up and shoot someone." Mickey explained. "There's a round in it already. You'll have to come see me if you need another one."

Ian turned the gun over in his hands for a few minutes and his heart rate sped up as he clutched it tightly. He felt weak and powerful at the same time, and as his hands shook he could almost see his camouflage print uniform on his body again, weighing him down in a way he couldn't explain.

Blinking, he looked up at Mickey and felt the building terror recoil as if it had been bitten. The older boy frowned at him. "Thanks." Ian said stiffly, and turned to leave.

Mickey grabbed him by the arm. "Not so fast, Firecrotch," he said, "what am I getting in return?"

Ian looked at him blankly. "Huh?"

Mickey ran his tongue over his cheek and raised an eyebrow suggestively. "You didn't think I was gonna lend it to you for free, did you?" He asked, his voice dripping with lust.

_If only you knew what I was doing for you._ Ian sighed and closed his eyes. "I can't, Mick." He answered.

"Why not?" Mickey asked, feeling a little bit of dread seep in.

"I…" Ian began. "I have a boyfriend."

Mickey was quiet for a long moment, and then he looked surprised. "Are you serious?" He scoffed disbelievingly.

Ian nodded and looked at the floor. "Yeah."

"Who is he?" He asked, stepping closer to the younger boy angrily. "Is it that old guy?"

"No-"

"What, is it one of his friends from the geriatric ward?" Mickey teased. "That _is_ where you do all your cruisin', isn't it?"

"No, he's a guy from the club I bounce."

Mickey was silent.

"And he's a year younger than me. He lives on the North Side with his dad."

Mickey's eyes seemed to get a little wetter, but he just licked the corner of his mouth and looked away. Ian's heart felt like it was tearing in two at the sight.

"Can I go now?" Ian asked, his voice breaking only a tiny bit.

Mickey didn't say anything for a minute, and Ian turned to leave.

"Do you love him?" Mickey's voice was small and broken, and Ian looked over his shoulder at him in surprise. His own eyes were a little wet now, and it took everything in him to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Do you love your wife?" Ian shot back venomously.

"Fuck you!" Mickey shouted, storming up to him and grabbing Ian by the shoulder. "How the fuck could you even think that?! She's just some hooker my dad dug out of nowhere-"

"Do you love me?" Ian asked, backing him against the wall.

Mickey gasped and furrowed his brow, looking up at the redhead defensively. "What?" Mickey said in surprise, a little breathless.

"Do. You. Love. Me? Shall I say it in Spanish?" Ian asked, pressing the older boy against the wall.

"I-"

Ian raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Mickey rubbed his nose and looked away. A tear rolled down his cheek, and then he looked up at Ian with more vulnerability than anyone had probably ever seen on the Milkovich boy's face. Ian was transfixed by it suddenly, and he looked down at him sadly. Parting his lips, he panted and pressed himself against the older boy before he brought a hand up to wipe the tear away with a knuckle. Mickey's nostrils flared slightly and his brow furrowed in confusion, and he looked up at the redhead. Ian's hand rested on Mickey's shoulder before he slowly leaned his head down. Breaths peppered the space between them and everything stilled as Ian's nose brushed Mickey's and he opened his mouth slightly as if he was going to kiss him. Closing his eyes, the two of them panted into each other's mouths and Mickey brought his hands up to grab the back of the younger boy's head. Ian ran a hand down his body but pulled his mouth away from his, the gun dangling by his side as he rested his forehead against Mickey's.

Mickey tried to press his mouth against Ian's and close the distance between them, but Ian pulled away slightly. "I've got to go." He murmured, his heart thudding furiously in his chest.

He stepped away from the older boy and turned to walk out the door, not looking back as Mickey leaned against the wall, panting and staring at the spot where the redhead had stood.

As it turned out, Carl's shoplifting habit had turned into a shoplifting business, and this was convenient when it was announced that there was apparently going to be a block party for the 4th of July. But, being Canaryville, it wasn't the average block party – drugs and booze were the main things on the menu. Carl had been to Party City a few times with Little Hank and stolen a few hundred dollars worth of decorations and novelties for various people in the neighbourhood, and in addition to their other 'jobs', somehow they'd ended up with nearly eight hundred bucks between them.

Fiona kept some of it for the bills and a few things that needed replacing around the house, but it had been decided that the rest of it was going to be spent on fireworks. Somehow, it had turned into a competition between some of the neighbours and as expected, the Gallaghers were determined to be the best.

Lip and Mandy had returned for the summer, and even though Ian hadn't replied to any of their letters, they'd made up fairly quickly. After Ian had given his brother a black eye, they'd shared a playful fight and then made up. Mandy hugged him tightly and beamed at him, promising to talk to him about it later.

A week later, Lip and Ian had gone out in the van to meet the guy who Mandy had suggested. Apparently he was some Chinese guy who sold illegally imported fireworks from the trunk of his car, and her brothers had gone to him when they'd wanted revenge on some guy who'd pissed them off for reasons unknown.

"Nothing says Americana like waiting around for a Chinese dude to sell you explosives," Lip said, taking a drag on his cigarette as they sat in the parked car behind an abandoned apartment building.

Ian laughed. "Or paying for it with the money your ten year old brother earned by shoplifting for kids around the neighbourhood."

Lip laughed. "I'm pretty proud of him, you know. He's turning into quite the businessman."

"Yeah," Ian laughed, "he'll be giving Debs a run for her money soon."

It was quite for a minute, and Lip turned to face his brother with a curious look. "So," he began, eyeing the redhead. "Fiona told me about Zack."

"Hn." Ian grunted, looking out of the window. As he did, something caught his eye in the wing mirror. It took him a moment to recognise the face at this distance, but as the man turned a corner and walked into the building, he saw that it was Terry.

"I'm just really happy for you." Lip said. "I know how upset you were about Mickey. It's good to see you movin' on, man."

Ian just glared at the reflection in the wing mirror silently.

"Ian."

Silence.

"Ian!"

"What?"

"Did you hear a word of what I just said?"

"Yes, I have a boyfriend!" Ian snapped. The windows of the building were missing, so from where they were sitting behind it, Ian could see Terry in the overgrown courtyard. He was talking to a shady-looking man and seemed to be arguing with him over something. It settled down after a moment, and he left again, shaking his head and tucking something into his pocket.

Lip puffed out a smoky laugh at the reply and shook his head, looking out of his own window. "Shit, I think that's him," he hissed, pointing over to his right at a man who pulled up in a blue Mazda.

Ian followed his brother's line of sight, and they waited for him to get out of the car before they got out and walked over to him.

After a few questions about which ones had the loudest bang, the biggest sparks and the most flares (as they'd promised to Carl) plus a little haggling, they loaded two hundred dollars worth of illegal fireworks into the van and drove home. As they pulled away, Ian looked out of the rear view mirror and watched Terry walking back to the man in the courtyard.


	4. Chapter 4

That night when he came home from work, he looked through the doorway and smiled as he saw Mandy curled up on a corner of the couch with a blanket up to her shoulders. The light from the T.V. was flashing on her face in the darkness, but the sound was almost inaudible. Ian kicked his shoes off and left them by the door, hanging his coat up and grabbing two beers from the fridge before he walked into the living room and sat on the other end of the couch.

"You waiting up for me?" He asked with a grin, passing her a beer.

She grabbed the neck of the bottle and kicked him playfully, scrunching up her face and grinning. "Don't flatter yourself, Muscle Mary."

Ian laughed. "So why are you up so late?"

"Your brother's all fucked out. I couldn't sleep." She replied, taking a sip.

Ian snorted. "And there I was thinking he could fuck any girl into unconsciousness."

"Right?" Mandy laughed. "He can hardly keep up with me."

Ian sniggered. "What the hell is this?" Ian asked after a moment, looking at the T.V. in confusion.

Mandy looked at him like he'd grown another head. "Are you seriously telling me you don't know what Adventure Time is?"

"Yes, I'm seriously telling you I don't know what Adventure Time is." Ian replied sarcastically.

Mandy sighed. "It's cartoon but I'm pretty sure the writers are on crack."

"Oh." Ian said. "I can't believe you still watch cartoons." He added after a moment.

Mandy gave him an affronted look before she hit him with a cushion. "Fuck you! You watch Family Guy, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess," Ian conceded.

"Then shut up!" She said with a grin.

It was quiet for a few minutes, and then Ian laid his head back on the couch. After a few minutes, he started to drop off to sleep. He hadn't slept for a few days – the dreams had started up again, so he'd found it easier to just drink tonnes of coffee and power nap during the day. He'd used up all the Valium in the past couple of months too, so it was even harder for him to sleep now.

As he lay on the sofa, he felt himself descending deeper and deeper into darkness, sort of like he was in a dark tunnel and there was no way out. Eventually, he became aware of the fact that he wasn't actually in a tunnel, but he was looking into one. Suddenly the walls of it became rectangular, and Ian was looking through them like he'd looked through the building earlier on today. At the other end of the tunnel, Terry was kneeling over Mickey's unconscious body and pointing a gun at his head, ready to shoot.

Ian started to shout at him, yelling at him to stop over and over, but it was like he couldn't hear him. Finally, he raised the gun up and looked right at Ian through the tunnel, pointing the gun at him. The end of the gun barrel attached itself to the tunnel, and Ian heard a gunshot right before he was woken up by someone shaking his shoulders.

"Ian!" Mandy yelled, gripping his shoulders tightly.

"Stop-!" Ian shouted, looking around blindly.

"Ian, it's okay, it's just a dream," Mandy said quietly, and Ian stared ahead before he leaned forwards, placing his head in his hands and running them over his hair.

"Fuck," he breathed harshly.

Mandy rubbed his back slowly as he started to hyperventilate. "Do you want a paper bag or something?" She asked, looking around.

Ian shook his head and started to practice his breathing technique again, and after a few minutes his breathing evened out a little. When he'd calmed down, he leaned back against the couch and listened to Mandy pad out to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. When she came back, he took it from her and swallowed a few large gulps.

After a few more minutes, he regained control of his breathing fully and closed his eyes, trying to relax. He thought about how he'd played with Liam this morning while everyone else was at work or school, and how he'd had to go and help Carl get down from the roof of their neighbour's garage the other day before he jumped and sprained his ankle like he did last time. How he'd been helping Debbie with her homework and how she'd teased him when he'd got confused. Thinking about them helped him get to the good part of his mind again; it helped him forget the darker part of himself.

"So are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Mandy asked.

"I just had a bad dream." Ian replied.

"Bullshit." Mandy laughed disbelievingly. "Everyone thinks you've been acting weird."

"What?"

"Fiona and Veronica said that you haven't been yourself since you came back from juvie. Carl said you keep waking him up in the middle of the night, yelling and shit. Even Lip thinks you're acting weird and we've barely been back a week. So what the fuck's going on?" She asked.

Ian was quiet, and simply stared at the floor.

"Ian, you're my best friend," Mandy began quietly, "and I can see that there's something wrong. You don't look like the Ian I know."

Ian said nothing.

"Is it about Mickey?" She asked cautiously.

"No."

Mandy raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it is, sort of. But it's not the only thing."

Ian was silent again for a little too long as Mandy looked at him expectantly. "…Are you going to elaborate?"

"Can I ask you something?" Ian asked suddenly.

"Sure."

"I mean… you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"What?"

Ian took a deep breath. "You know… what your dad did to you…?" He asked tentatively.

Mandy looked away and was quiet for a beat, before she coughed and picked up her cigarettes from the coffee table. "It depends on which thing we're talking about here. There's plenty to choose from." She said with a bitter laugh.

"You know which thing I mean." Ian said softly.

"What about it?"

"Do you ever think about it?" He asked.

"I try not to," she answered, her voice muffled around the cigarette between her lips that she was trying to light.

"…Do you ever dream about it?" Ian asked, taking the cigarette she offered him and leaning forward as she lit it for him.

"Sometimes," she replied candidly. "Not so much these days but… every now and then I have to do a line the next day. It's not as bad as it used to be though."

Something told Ian she was glossing over a lot. "How did it use to be?"

She blew out a puff of smoke and fiddled with the butt of the cigarette between her fingers and stared at the floor. "Pretty bad, at first," she said finally, "I used to have to be sick in the middle of the night." She paused. "I mean, after the abortion and whatever. I don't know if it was just the hormones or something, but it carried on for quite a while. Eventually it stopped though."

Ian nodded, flicking the cigarette in the ashtray in front of him. "Did you ever get like… anxiety attacks?"

"Hm…" she said thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip. "A couple of times, I think. But it wasn't like what just happened to you. I just blacked out a couple of times."

Ian nodded. "Did you ever speak to anyone about it?" He asked.

Mandy finally looked away from the spot she'd been staring at and grinned at the redhead. "I'm talking to you now, aren't I?" She said, grabbing Ian's hand and squeezing it affectionately.

Ian smiled back. Taking a drag on his cigarette, he looked away thoughtfully. "I just can't stop thinking about him." He said, before he realised what he was saying.

"Mickey?" Mandy guessed.

"Well, both."

"Who else is there to think about?" She asked. "Zack?"

"No," Ian replied as if it were obvious. Mandy gave him a strange look.

"Can I tell you something?" Ian asked, fiddling around with the cigarette in his hand and looking down at it sheepishly.

"Sure," Mandy said.

"When I was in Afghanistan…" he began, "we were storming this building that was being used as a hideout. When we got there, they were all in the corridors, and we had to kind of go through them and gun any enemies down that we saw until we got to the main room."

Mandy nodded.

"And I, well…" He paused.

"You shot one of them." Mandy added.

"Yeah." Ian said, looking down.

"Well… what did you expect, Ian?" She asked.

"I know, I know… I just wasn't prepared."

"I'll say. Watching you walk off when you did was like watching a lamb walk into a lion's den." She said with a smirk.

"Are you serious?" He asked, feeling a little embarrassed.

"I know you're strong, Ian, but I think you underestimated how bad it would be."

"Hn."

She paused. "And I guess you keep dreaming about it, right?"

"Sort of. At first, yeah. When I was in juvie, it was just the same thing night after night. I felt like I deserved locking up."

"You don't, Ian. You killed someone who probably would've gone on to kill more people. And not just shitheads like him but like… pregnant women and kids and shit. You did the world a favour," she explained.

"I know." Ian replied, nodding. "But… I still can't stop thinking about it."

Mandy sighed. "You probably won't."

Ian laughed. "That's comforting."

"Well, it's true."

"I know but… it doesn't stop the dreams, does it? And they keep getting weirder and weirder."

"How?" She asked.

"Well… did Mickey tell you why we broke up?"

"Because he got married to that whore, right?"

"Yeah, well, your dad made him." He said.

"What?"

"He caught us together and then he made her fuck him. Right in front of me."

"Jesus," Mandy growled angrily. "Just when I thought I couldn't hate my dad any more than I already do."

"Yeah," Ian said with a nod. "And now, I just keep dreaming about it. But it keeps getting mixed up with all the stuff from when I was on duty and it's fucking with my head."

Mandy looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sorry everything sucks right now." She answered, rubbing his arm.

Ian was quiet, and he sighed as he leaned his head on his hand as he rested his arm on the couch.

"At least you have Zack now, right?" She asked hopefully.

Ian snorted. "I don't really like him that much," he admitted.

"Oh." Mandy said with a laugh.

"I mean, he's great but… he's just too nice."

Mandy laughed disbelievingly. "And that's a bad thing?"

Ian smiled. "Well, for most people, I guess he's perfect. But if everything was easy, it probably wouldn't be worth it."

"Hm." Mandy said thoughtfully. "That's pretty true, I guess."

"And it's like… I can't even remember the colour of Zack's eyes, but I can remember all these tiny little details about Mickey. Like, how he's got freckles literally all over his body, and how he's even got this strange little freckle in his eye. His fingernails are basically nothing now, because he bites them all the time. Like when he's reading and stuff-"

"Mickey _reads_?" Mandy snickered.

"Well, not like books or whatever. He used to read the magazines in the store. I caught him reading a copy of _Martha Stewart Weddings_ once."

Mandy cackled. "The fuck," she muttered under her breath with a wide grin. "God is he ever going to suffer for that one when I next go home."

Ian laughed. "Don't. He'll probably come and collect my head if he knows I told you."

"So what else does he do in this secret life of his?" Mandy asked.

"Well…" Ian began. "He's not that different, really. He's still kind of an asshole most of the time I'm with him. But he kisses like really gently. I thought he'd be like a total face sucker, but he's not. I mean, except sometimes when we're fucking, he gets pretty rough. But most of the time, it's really gentle."

Mandy raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"We didn't kiss for most of the time we were together, actually. It was only a couple of weeks before everything went to shit. He got jealous of Ned."

"I can imagine Mickey being the jealous type, actually." Mandy said, with a laugh.

"_Very_ jealous. I think all you Milkoviches are." Mandy looked away guiltily. "He beat the shit out of him after Ned bought me a drink at the Fountain."

"Fuck," Mandy laughed. "So what made you fall in love with him?"

Ian sighed. "Everything?" He replied after a moment. "I think it was because he's such a tough guy, but he's like totally submissive in bed, and-"

"Wait _what?"_ Mandy interrupted suddenly. "Mickey doesn't pitch?"

"Yeah. What, did you think I took it?"

Mandy shrugged.

"Anyway," Ian continued, "he contradicts himself a lot. I learned to just ignore him a lot of the time though. I found he was usually just bluffing anyway. And he always helped me out when I wanted to train, you know? He never told me I shouldn't go. I think he knew how important it was to me, so he just went with it. And even though he hurt me a lot… he was there when I needed him. Like when Monica showed up again. And when I was in the Group Home… he asked me over."

Mandy watched him as he spoke thoughtfully.

"I miss him." Ian added quietly.

Mandy looked at him sympathetically. "I think he misses you too. He asked me about you like five times when I visited on Tuesday."

"Well, he still got married even though I begged him not to." Ian snapped. "I gave him the ultimatum and he blew it."

"Ian… you know he didn't have a choice." Mandy said after a moment.

Ian was silent.

"And our dad… well, you know what he's like. We're all scared of him," she explained, "so my guess is… he probably did it because he loves you. Our dad is an asshole, and as long as he's in our lives, we've got to just deal with that."

Ian scowled.

"I know it doesn't make it any easier but… maybe you should cut him some slack. I don't think he's any happier than you are."

Ian scoffed. "You can't tell me he's not exactly pleased about his beard though." He replied bitterly, trying not to sound petulant.

Mandy looked away. "Can you blame him?" She asked quietly.

Ian was silent. They sat watching _Samurai Jack_ for a while, until Ian glanced over at Mandy and saw her eyes dropping. It was starting to get light outside, so Ian switched the TV off and nudged Mandy's shoulder. "Go to bed," he murmured.

She stood up and slowly walked up the stairs as Ian double locked the doors and tidied up after them, before he followed her. As he walked past her bedroom, he heard her whisper his name in the semi-darkness.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out between you and my brother." She whispered sympathetically.

"Me too." Ian replied before he smiled and closed her door.

The next morning, Ian got up as soon as he heard the door slam shut behind the sound of Fiona's angry voice arguing down the phone. Lip had taken Mandy out for the day to a game or something, which hadn't interested her in the slightest. He'd asked Ian, but the redhead had refused, and told him that he didn't want to feel like a third wheel.

Truthfully, Ian already had plans.

When he was sure that he was alone in the house, he took a shower and scrubbed himself down completely, before he went back to his room with a towel around his waist. He rooted around his closet to find the clothes he'd fished out a few days before. He found an old grey t-shirt and a pair of ripped blue jeans that Ian was fairly certain actually belonged to Frank, but it didn't matter now anyway. He pulled them on and grabbed an old pair of sneakers from the bottom of the closet as well as a checked green shirt he'd worn to help paint Debbie's room a couple of months ago. He tied the shirt around his waist and grabbed a baseball cap as well as a pair of sunglasses. Once he was dressed, he fished around under his bed for the rucksack he'd shoved Mickey's gun into a few weeks before.

Pulling it out, Ian unzipped it and looked at it. He'd only fired a couple of rounds, but it worked fine. He zipped the bag up again and slung it over his shoulder, and then he headed out.


	5. Chapter 5

The walk to the wasteland of abandoned buildings didn't take particularly long from where they lived; it was a place that Mickey had taken him to a while after he'd been released from juvie and they'd actually just started hanging out even when they weren't fucking. It took him a minute to find the building he was looking for, but he soon remembered where he and Lip had parked the day before.

He rounded the building to look for the man that Terry had been meeting; the last thing he needed was to be spotted by him. He looked through the window frames and saw no one in the courtyard, and so he climbed into the building as quietly as possible. There were no security cameras on the buildings anymore; they'd been destroyed years ago by people who apparently wanted it to remain a crime-ridden wasteland. Ian walked through the empty building and to the stairs, climbing them until he got to the roof. From where he was standing, he could see over most of the buildings and the streets, and he walked to the edge of the roof to look down into the courtyard.

It was similar to the one which he and Mickey had fought in, which seemed fitting for what Ian was about to do, in a rather sick way. The building he was in was connected to three other wings, each with six floors, with only a small gap in the third wing of the building which opened up to a driveway on Ian's right. There were a couple of burnt out cars in one corner and a few large, murky puddles surrounded by nettles in the overgrown gardens.

Ian sat down and unzipped the backpack before he drew the gun out of it. He fiddled around with the weapon for a few minutes before he lay down on his stomach and aimed it just over the edge. Once he had finished setting the weapon up, all he had to do was wait.

It was a few hours until there was any movement in the courtyard. Truth be told, he really had no idea when Terry was going to be here next, but Ian knew that it was his best bet at catching him when he was alone and unguarded.

Around midday, a sleek black car pulled into the courtyard and parked near the burnt out cars in the corner. A man stepped out of it and lit a cigarette before he pulled a phone out of his pocket, punched a number into it and then put it to his ear. He was talking on the phone for a while, but Ian never took his eyes off of him. Being careful to stay completely flat and out of sight, he shuffled forward and narrowed his eyes over his sunglasses. It was the same man who'd been arguing with Terry the day before; from this distance, Ian could memorise his appearance. He was wearing a dark tank top and a pair of black jeans slung low on his hips with a blue hoodie over his shoulder; his skin was tanned and he had a pair of sunglasses resting on his face.

Ian twisted his mouth thoughtfully. He didn't recognise the man, but he decided to play it safe and rummaged around his backpack for a pen before he scrawled down the registration number on the inside of his arm. About half an hour later, Terry arrived.

Ian watched him closely as he walked up to the man. Narrowing his eyes, Ian watched them talk. He couldn't hear what they were saying from where he was, but he could hear them raising their voices every now and then. Ian closed his eyes momentarily. It was now or never.

He hadn't really been able to prepare himself for this moment. All he'd known was that it had to be done. In his dreams about it, he'd felt every level of remorse for the times when the man in the corridor had taken the form of his loved ones, but with Terry, there was nothing. It was probably because he'd hated the man for as long as he'd known what he was like, and he knew, like Mandy had said about the man in the corridor, that he was probably doing the world a service by killing him.

He saw Mandy's face flash behind his eyelids for a moment, as she had told him about how the things he'd done had haunted her. He thought about the way she'd pressed her forehead to his and the look on her face when she'd told him what happened.

He squeezed his eyes shut and thought about Mickey, next, and how he'd looked at him lifelessly from his position on the couch as the Russian woman had raped him; and then he saw Terry standing behind him, gun pointed at his head. The words he'd said to him – '_She's gonna fuck the the faggot out of you, kid,' _and how he'd made him watch.

Ian opened his eyes, clenched his teeth and aimed the gun. Closing one eye, he looked through the eyehole on the end of the barrel and aimed it right at Terry's head. His fingers shook, but with a final burst of strength, Ian pulled the trigger.

He'd always been a damn good shot.

Ian laid in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling. Dinner had been a boisterous affair as usual, but the redhead had been quiet in comparison, feigning tiredness. He'd left for work not long after, and luckily the night had been pretty uneventful. Zack had been on him from virtually the moment he'd stepped in the door and Ian had accidentally shoved him back a little too forcefully. He hadn't meant to and he'd apologised instantly, but the redhead was more than a little on edge from this afternoon. Needless to say, he'd not been happy.

But Ian was just not in the mood. He knew he'd not treated the boy right – they'd hardly seen each other that week and Ian hadn't returned any of his texts either. It wasn't hard to work out that they were probably going to break up sooner or later.

As Ian closed his eyes, he thought back to what had happened. After he'd pulled the trigger, two or three bullets had hit the back of Terry's head and pierced right through his skull. His body had collapsed forward into the arms of the man he'd been arguing with, but the other man had dropped him after the initial shock and rushed back to his car, panicked and wiping his bloody hands on his bloodier jeans. His shirt was caked with brain matter and bodily fluids and he wiped his forehead down with his hoodie wildly. He sped away soon after, leaving Ian to stare down at Terry's corpse with emptiness. He'd been acting on automatic ever since; first to get himself the fuck away from there before anyone caught him, and then as he made his way back home.

He remembered the feeling well. It wasn't dissimilar to how he'd felt immediately after he'd killed the man in the corridor, only the initial feeling of numbness had lasted a lot longer that time. Now, as he laid in bed, Carl snoring softly in the bunk where Lip had once slept and Liam sound asleep in his crib, he felt the terror begin to seep in. Distantly, he remembered what the other soldier had said to him that time he'd hardly been able to move from his bunk:

'_The first kill is always the hardest.'_

It shocked Ian to his core how accurate the statement was. Despite the fact that he'd always dreamt of being in the army, despite the fact that he'd accepted long ago that he would one day kill a man, Mandy had been right. He'd not been prepared for how the army would change him. How did you even prepare for that, anyway? His training had fallen short in so many ways; but then again, his higher-ups probably knew that there was no preparation for what they'd have to do as soldiers; only expectation.

As he drifted off to sleep after a fitful few hours of dozing, he felt his mind wondering to that dark place again. It was as terrifying as it usually was, but there was a feeling that he was protected, now. It was as if he'd been trying to prove to himself how in control he was; how capable he was of chasing his own demons away. It occurred to him, somewhere in the depths of his own subconscious, that all of this had been about power. That ever since the day Terry had caught him fucking his son and reacted by coercing the Russian woman to rape him, everything he'd done had been a reaction to that feeling of helplessness. That was why he'd enlisted in the army and why he'd then killed Mickey's father – it was a terrifying thought, but it was true. Everything was a reaction to the feeling of powerlessness Terry had instilled in him on that unlucky day.

There was a weird feeling, then, at the realisation that this was how Mickey had felt. It explained why he was so keen to call the shots in their relationship – why he'd kissed Ian first, why he'd decided when and where they fucked, why he'd decided when they went on a break; being threatened with guns all your life probably had a way of doing that to people. It all sounded a bit too much like pop-psychology in a way, but there was certainly a grain of truth to it. Ian had felt weak when Terry had torn them apart, so Ian left to get back at Mickey and show him the consequences of his actions; apart from the fact that Ian had basically needed to get away anyway, it was also his way of punishing him. A way of getting back at him for all the times he'd abandoned him, because he was too scared of punishing the one man who really needed punishing.

There was blood in his dreams again, the sight of limbs and brain matter and bones littered across a gravelled courtyard, across a stony desert wasteland with tall buildings and the burnt out debris of war. As much as it stung him, there was a feeling of finality to the whole scene. There was no remorse for the man he'd killed this afternoon; no pity, no empathy, not even any hatred anymore.

After a week and a half of preparation, the Fourth of July finally arrived. The house was bustling with its usual inhabitants, and Ian laughed as Debbie chased Carl under his arm, screaming obscenities at him and nearly knocking over the case of beer he was balancing on his shoulder. Lip caught it before it fell and carried it out for him with a smirk.

Ian went back to the counter and picked up two more crates easily, before following his brother out into the garden. "Why are they collecting wood?" Ian asked as Carl reappeared with Little Hank, and threw a few planks of wood onto a growing pile in the middle of the street, along with half a dozen of Debbie's old teddy bears.

"Didn't you hear?" Lip replied, a joint dangling from his mouth. "Kev managed to get hold of an entire lamb. They're doin' a spit roast."

Ian laughed, setting the crates down by plastic dining table. "Have they even cordoned off the street?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure the spike strips ought to do the trick." He replied with a smirk.

Ian laughed, walking back into the house after grabbing Debbie's teddy bears off of the bonfire.

A while later, the street had become pretty busy. There were makeshift tables made out of wooden crates here and there with plastic chairs strewn about (some had already been drunkenly knocked over), as well as a few marquees with flags on the corners and the lights that Carl had stolen from another neighbourhood at Christmas tied to the trees. Music was blaring from somewhere unseen and the bonfire had been covered in gasoline, ready to be lit.

Inside, Ian tried to stay still as Debbie painted the top half of his face blue with the stolen face-paint set. He glanced over at Liam, who was watching T.V. on the couch across from him and wearing a red and white striped jumpsuit and blue sneakers. Debbie had painted two white stars on his cheeks and Ian smiled as he giggled at the T.V. He'd grown a lot since he'd been away.

"Stay still!" Debbie snapped as she started drawing white stars on his forehead and cheeks.

"Sorry." He said, and looked forward at her. She'd tied her hair up into a high ponytail and shoved three sticks with red, white and blue stars on the ends into it, and her face was painted with stars as well.

"Finished!" Debbie announced a few minutes later, holding up a small mirror in front of him.

"Hey, this looks pretty cool." Ian said, looking side to side in the mirror.

"You sound surprised." She deadpanned.

"I am." Ian laughed, sticking his tongue out at her teasingly. Debbie glared at him. "Have you been practicing?" He asked.

"No," she mumbled.

Ian grinned. It did look pretty cool, actually; somehow she'd made it look like it had been sprayed onto the top half of his face.

"It makes your hair pop." She said with a grin.

"It makes my hair _pop_?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not the only ginger in the family, you know."

Debbie hit him on the arm. "My hair is _auburn,_ actually. Go tell Mandy to come in, buttmunch."

Ian snorted and stood up, walking out to kitchen as Mandy came down the stairs, looking a little dishevelled. "Your turn," he said, pointing out into the living room behind him.

"Oh, you going into drag now?" She asked teasingly, grabbing a beer from the counter and walking past him with a smile.

"It seems like the right time, yeah." Ian replied jokingly, turning to face her.

Mandy laughed and went to sit down on the couch in the living room, and when Ian turned around, he was greeted with a familiar face standing at the door.


	6. Chapter 6

"Zack," Ian said, blinking at him in surprise. It took him a moment to realise that Fiona and Veronica were standing behind him with shit-eating grins on their faces.

"Surprise!" Fiona shouted.

"You should really guard your phone a little better." Veronica said, her daughter on her hip.

"Fuck," Ian breathed, glancing between them.

Zack smiled stiffly, his hands in his pockets.

"I-it's good to see you." Ian said. Why did he suddenly feel like he'd been caught?

"Yeah." He replied, looking at him awkwardly. "I like your make-up. It's very… innovative."

"Ah," Ian replied, shaking his head, "it was my little sister. She's determined to make everyone think I'm making my first foray into drag."

There was a sudden commotion outside, and everyone snapped their heads in the direction of the party. Kev ran up to their doorway looking a little panicked. "Carl just threw a can of deodorant on the fire."

"Oh, for-" Fiona growled, and rushed down the stairs, closely followed by Veronica.

Ian laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about that. My brother is turning into a pyromaniac, evidently."

"We need to talk." Zack said suddenly.

Ian nodded. He'd seen it coming. "Shall we go upstairs?" Ian asked.

Zack nodded. They passed a dishevelled-looking Lip on the stairs and then walked into Ian's bedroom, sitting down on the bed.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry about last night," Ian said after a moment of silence. "I didn't mean to hurt you or anything, I just… I really wasn't in the mood yesterday."

Zack rolled his eyes and picked at his fingernails. "I know." He answered. "It's alright."

Ian nodded. It was quiet for another minute, before Zack spoke up again. "It's just… you've been really distant lately and I don't know why. I'm worried."

The redhead frowned. He hadn't ever been particularly engaged with his boyfriend, but he supposed that not answering his texts maybe sounded a little too distant. "I'm sorry." He said.

"You never make an effort to see me. All we ever seem to do is fuck in the bathrooms at the club." He said, frowning at him. "And then you don't even call me the next day, or invite me back to your place… today's the first time you've ever even introduced me to your family and they had to go behind your back to do it! It just feels like you're ashamed of me or something-"

Ian ran a hand through his hair before he suddenly kissed him deeply. After a few minutes, he pulled away, gripping him by the shoulders. "I'm sorry." He said firmly. "I've been kind of out of it lately. I haven't been sleeping much, so I haven't had the energy. But if you give me another chance, I promise you things will change." He said, looking him right in the eye. They were grey. Huh. He'd thought they were brown.

"Do you promise?" He asked, reaching up to lace his fingers with Ian's on his shoulders.

Ian smiled and kissed him on the forehead. "I promise." He said.

Zack smiled back and brought a hand up to stroke a slightly fuzzy sideburn on Ian's cheek. "Hm." He hummed, placing a kiss on his mouth and being careful not to smudge Debbie's handiwork.

Ian fucked him into the mattress for about fifteen minutes before he led him down the stairs by the hand, grinning at him and taking him out into the party.

It turned out to be a huge success. Fiona slapped Frank away from the booze in between sucking face with her boss and Debbie ranted about nostalgia as she fought with Carl when he tried to throw her old teddy bears on the fire again. Sheila had cooked what looked like an entire buffet of food that was laid out on a table beneath a marquee and Kev sat by the fire, turning the lamb around on the spit while bouncing his daughter on his knee and arguing with some drunk asshole who wanted a go at turning the twisty thing. Mandy was leaning against a very stoned Lip's legs as he sat on a crate and played with her hair, holding a sleeping Liam on her lap. A few yards away, someone had set fire to a rusty car that had been on someone's driveway and people sat around it roasting marshmallows over it. Ian had been talking to Zack for a while, leant against what looked like a castle of beer cases to one side until Veronica had grabbed the younger man and finally dragged him over to where she and Fiona were sitting.

Ian palmed around his back pocket for a joint before he realised that he didn't have any left. He sighed and grabbed a beer before he made his way to where the van was parked in the back yard.

The last thing he expected to see was Mickey, leaning against it with a can of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"Shit, Mickey," Ian slurred slightly. It was almost pitch-black out here, and all Ian could see of him was a few outlines of shadow and light and the glint of his wedding ring.

"Well it's nice to see you too." Mickey said with a sniff, his voice a bit hoarse. Ian shuffled awkwardly. "'S'that your boyfriend out there?"

"Who?" Ian asked dumbly.

"The skinny piece of shit who was crawlin' all over you just now." Mickey spat. The spark on the end of his cigarette lit up like an ambulance siren when he lifted it to his lips and took a drag.

Ian looked away sheepishly. "Yeah." He replied quietly.

"So you're all settled down now, huh?" He asked expectantly.

Ian scowled. "Guess that makes two of us."

Mickey huffed breathily. "Fuck you, man. It's way fuckin' different and you know it."

Ian said nothing. He just folded his arms and kicked a pebble.

Mickey took a long drag of his cigarette, before he flicked it belligerently. It was silent for a moment, before Ian looked back up at him. Fuck, he looked gorgeous. Maybe it was the drugs or the booze, but he was transfixed. He felt a wave of affection come over him, like it had always done really, but more so at this particular moment. Maybe it was because the older boy had obviously come over here to cry over him, not that he'd ever admit it. Ian's heart broke at the thought, as much as he didn't want it to.

He slowly began to walk over to him. "So how are things on your end?" He slurred, stifling a belch. He didn't have to hold back now, did he?

Mickey gave him a weird look. "What?" He asked.

Ian stepped closer to him. "How's Svet-la-na?" He asked with a drunken giggle.

"She hardly speaks any English, man. How the fuck should I know?" He said, standing up a little straighter and his eyes softening at the redhead.

Ian pressed his hands either side of the older boy, trapping him between them like he'd done the other day. "Hnn…" He purred, rubbing his nose against Mickey's neck gently before he pulled away. Mickey shivered, and looked up at him with slightly glazed eyes. Ian had certainly grown a lot since he'd come back from juvie. He'd become more muscular and his hair was still in a buzz cut, even though he was no longer in the army. Tonight, he looked hotter than usual. His hair was kind of a mess, his shirt was a little wet from where Lip had spilled beer on it, and the white fabric clung to his muscles. His skin seemed illuminated by the moonlight and the dim lights from the party, and the makeup Debbie had painted onto his face was a little smeared. But to Mickey, he'd never looked more delectable.

Ian pulled back a little and looked down at the older boy with slightly bloodshot eyes. He brought one hand up and stroked a spike of hair behind Mickey's ear affectionately. Mickey would've flinched away normally, but their moments of intimacy were so few and far between these days that he just didn't have the heart. His eyelids dropped a little and he looked up at the younger boy, licking his lips and placing a hand on his bicep.

"I don't think your boyfriend would be too pleased to see us like this," Mickey said with a half-hearted smirk.

Ian pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Fuck him." He said after a moment, and then laid a kiss on him.

It was like a breath of fresh air - as if they'd had their heads held underwater for the last year and a half and finally, finally they could breathe. Mickey hadn't ever felt anything like it. He'd never admit it to anyone, but Ian had been his first kiss. He didn't know why he'd held off for so long, but he never kissed any of the girls he fucked to save face or any of the guys he'd fucked before or since Ian. Svetlana had been different; a quick, passionless peck on their wedding day was nothing – especially compared to this.

Ian buried a hand in Mickey's hair and licked over his teeth, asking for entrance. The brunet's mouth melted open and the younger boy licked over his tongue slowly. Mickey panted through his nose and Ian panted every time their mouths parted, but it was never for long. They reconnected over and over again. Mickey had long since dropped his beer and the cigarette butt in the dry dirt, and Ian grabbed his arms, pinning them to the side of the van. He moaned softly as Mickey tilted his head back, his brow furrowed and letting out a breathless, _"Fuck."_ Ian kissed down his neck lazily, gently nipping his skin before he bit him, sucked on the flesh for a minute or two, and then pulled away to lave over it with his tongue.

He pulled away from his neck and slid his tongue back into the other boy's mouth, revelling in the smoky taste of him once again and burning the memory into his mind. Mickey kissed far more gently than Ian would have expected, and as he released his arms, he felt them snake around him, one arm clinging to his waist and the other around his shoulders. Running a hand down his side, Ian cupped his face with his other hand, holding his chin with a thumb and forefinger as he plunged his tongue into the older boy's mouth again and again.

Mickey rubbed his hips against the younger boy's and they groaned at the sensation. The kiss became more desperate as he fisted his hand in the red softness on the back of his head and began to gyrate his hips, moaning into his mouth. Ian reached behind him and stroked up his back, fisting a hand in the fabric of his shirt and groaning a little in his throat appreciatively as the older boy bit his neck and began to suck on the flesh.

He pulled away breathlessly after a moment and fiddled around with the lock on the door of the van. He slid it open when it finally clicked free and smirked down at him. "After you," he said, his voice a little deeper in arousal.

Mickey laughed breathlessly and grinned, running his tongue over his teeth as he climbed into the van and laid down on the bed. He lifted his shirt up and off before he kicked his shoes to the floor and then lifted his hips up and squirmed out of his jeans awkwardly in the small space available as Ian pulled the door shut behind them. It suddenly felt very intimate, and Ian looked over at the older boy with an affectionate smile. Mickey smirked back at him and spread his legs wide in invitation, and Ian crept over to him, crawling over his body and settling between his legs gently.

They kissed lazily, not worrying about morning or keeping the store closed for too long like they had before. Mickey ran his hands through red hair and slid his tongue into the younger boy's mouth, letting out a soft moan. His hands stroked down his muscled back until they settled on the hem of his shirt and he lifted it up slowly until Ian leaned back and lifted it off as well as he could in the small space provided. He threw it over his shoulder where it landed over the driving seat with a smirk, and settled back down on the older boy.

They kissed for a few more minutes, revelling in what they had been unable to enjoy during the brief time the action wasn't taboo in their relationship – a good make-out session. Of course, it was always going to end up with them fucking as usual, but it seemed that neither boy wanted to stop until Ian pulled away a while later.

"You know," he began, a little breathless, leaning his chest on the older boy's now bare one, "you never did answer my question."

"What?" Mickey panted. "Why the fuck are you talking?"

"The other day, when I came to borrow your gun." He said.

Mickey was silent. "Shut the fuck up, Gallagher," he replied and hooked an arm around his neck, placing another kiss on his mouth.

Ian hummed in protest before he slowly gave in again, running his hands down the older boy's sides and breathing his scent in. He'd not given up on the subject, but he was too pleased to be touching him again to care about it right now.

After another few minutes of making out and a little dry humping, Ian finally shuffled out of his jeans and kicked them onto the floor of the van. Groaning, he rubbed their hips together and Mickey let out a sharp hiss. He yanked the brunet's boxers down over his ass and pulled them off down his ankles. There was some awkward twisting in the cramped space, but Mickey used it to his advantage when he sat up momentarily to place a deep kiss on the redhead's mouth and pull his boxers down at the same time.

Letting out a breathy moan, Mickey hooked his arm around Ian's muscular shoulder again and pulled him down as he lack back on the bed again. Ian ran his arms down his sides and then grabbed his dick, stroking it gently and then teasing the sensitive fraenulum softly, using the precum he found there to make the movement smoother.

Mickey let out a sudden, rough moan at the sensation and arched his back, digging his short nails into the younger boy's skin where he gripped his shoulders like a lifeline and furrowed his brow. He was holding him so tightly to his chest that Ian could kiss away the teardrop of pleasure as it rolled down his cheek when he started to move his hand up and down, and used the other to tease his entrance.

_"Fuck,"_ Mickey moaned roughly, and Ian closed his eyes. He began to roll his hips forward slightly and brushed the head of his dick against the older boy's hole.

Mickey kicked him in the thigh where it was slung over his hips. Ian didn't need further prompting. He shuffled down the other boy's body and laid gentle sucking kisses down his abdomen worshipfully before he stopped between the other boy's spread legs and rested them on his shoulders, his own long, slightly gangly ones dangling off the edge of the small bed. He licked his top lip with a smirk, looking up into the other boy's hooded eyes and kissed the underside of his cock.

Mickey let out a groan and panted, his legs melting open until his knee thudded on the wooden sideboard. He groaned as the redhead spat on the head of his dick, a trail of spit dangling from his lips as he looked up at him, his green eyes almost black in arousal. Their eyes locked as he began sucking slowly, never breaking eye contact. He hollowed his cheeks out and panted through his nose, gradually taking the older boy in deeper until his head was bumping against the back of his throat and then sliding down it slickly. Mickey's moans became louder and louder and his head thudded as it fell back against the stiff, thin mattress. As hot as it was, it was all a little too intense for him. He'd be coming in seconds if they kept that up.

Ian reached a hand up and began rubbing the older boy's balls and Mickey groaned, thrusting his hips up into his mouth and burying his hands in his hair. "Fuck, Gallagher," he grunted, fucking the redhead's throat roughly until he suddenly pulled away. "Lay back, keep your head up that end." He ordered.

They shuffled around for a moment until Ian's head was dangling off the back of the bed with his legs parted. Mickey laid on top of him, top-to-tail, and positioned his legs either side of his shoulders. Ian gasped when the brunet licked over his cock a few times and then got to work, sloppily bobbing his head and pushing his dick into the redhead's face impatiently.

It didn't take him long to get the hint. Groaning, he carried on as he had before, pausing only to suck his fingers into his mouth and rub them over the older boy's twitching hole before he slowly slid one of them in, thrusting it in and out a few times until he felt his muscles relax a little. Mickey winced in momentary discomfort but moaned around his cock as he adjusted. Ian slid his ring finger in beside his middle one with a groan, and pummelled them into his hole quickly, not having the patience to wait around. Releasing the other boy's dick with a groan, he licked up the underside of it and laved over his balls, panting hot breaths over him. He licked upwards and over his hole where his fingers were fucking into him gently, a droplet of spit trickling down to his balls.

With a desperate moan, Mickey thrust his hips back at the sensation and grunted, pulling his mouth away from the other boy as he arched his back. He gasped when the younger boy grazed his prostate and he furrowed his brow, squeezing the redhead's dick tightly and jerking his hips back when Ian added a third finger.

"Fuck," he grunted, and finally pulled away. He turned over so he was straddling the redhead's hips and rubbed his ass against his cock softly, leaning down to kiss him messily.

Ian stroked his hands down his back affectionately and then cupped his ass, spreading his cheeks to position the head of his dick against his hole. Mickey gasped a breathless laugh against his lips and reached back to grab his cock and keep it still while he sat back on it. Ian moaned low in his throat while the other boy slowly settled down on him and then let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding as the brunet rocked back against him gently.

Furrowing his brow, Mickey grunted and began rocking back a little more roughly; digging his nails into Ian's shoulders as he bit his lip in concentration. Ian moaned loudly and bent his knees until his thighs rested against the other boy's ass. He began thrusting upwards, angling his hips so that he just grazed his prostate and stroked the other boy's pale, sweaty flesh lovingly. Mickey moaned and kissed him deeply, moaning into his mouth until he pulled away breathlessly for a moment before Ian grabbed the back of his head and pulled his head back down, stroking through spikes of black hair with his free hand and pushing his tongue into his mouth where Mickey sucked on it greedily.

Their bodies were sticking together with sweat now, the heat in the van becoming so intense that Ian could almost feel it seeping into his skin. A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead and he pressed it against the older boy's as they panted into each other's mouth and slammed their hips together repeatedly. Ian could hardly keep his eyes shut; he looked right up at Mickey's face with half-lidded eyes and held their chests together with a hand splayed out against his hot upper back. It felt impossible, but he wanted to be closer to him. Their bodies were pressed together wherever they could already, but Ian still wanted more. He felt like he wanted to slide into his skin and become just as much a part of Mickey as Mickey was of him.

Mickey let out a sudden grunt and arched his back, his hips jerking and losing his rhythm momentarily. Ian gasped as he felt his balls tighten and then he grunted. They moved faster against each other now, their hips slapping together loudly as Mickey let out a long, low moan into Ian's mouth where their foreheads were pressed together. They kissed again, desperately, a clash of teeth and breathless gasps as Mickey began to rub his dick against Ian's abdomen where it was trapped between their bodies. He felt the tingling sensation at the bottom of his spine where the redhead was pounding into him relentlessly, and he let out a long groan that built until he was toppling over the edge with a loud, desperate moan. He didn't stop bouncing his hips throughout his orgasm, his teeth clenched and forcing out a loud string of curses as he came.

Ian groaned beneath him as the other boy tightened around him and licked a stripe up his neck when he arched his head back, screwing his eyes shut tightly. His body jerked and convulsed as he shot all over the younger boy's chest, all the way up to his shoulder. "Fuck," he breathed desperately, his hips slowing down as his orgasm finally subsided.

Panting, Ian flipped them over until he was on top of other boy. He buried his face in Mickey's neck and jackhammered into him as he felt the fizzing sensation in his abdomen begin to push outward. It didn't take him long to reach the precipice and he moaned out loudly as his balls tightened one more time. Mickey panted beneath him and gripped the skin of his back, biting into his neck harshly and leaving a large hickey in his wake. Ian's hips jerked rhythmically as he gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a hoarse groan and painting the other boy's inner walls with his come.

Mickey let out a tired moan, laying his head back with a fucked-out smile and stroking down the redhead's heaving back affectionately. After the last few waves of pleasure had subsided, Ian laid his head against Mickey's chest, panting harshly. They laid like that for a while, neither of them moving. They were a mess of limbs on the uncomfortable fold-out bed in the van, sweat-slick skin sticking together and a mess of blue face paint. It seemed to have gotten everywhere; it was on Mickey's face where they had kissed messily, on their hands and on his chests and even between Mickey's legs and on his inner thighs. It had smudged over most of Ian's face and had even got stuck in his hair. The place stank of sweat and sex and face paint and faintly of gasoline, the heat so strong you could almost taste it as their pants peppered the air.

Mickey had closed his eyes, but Ian knew he was still awake from the way he was languidly stroking a crooked finger through his hair; an act of affection that was rare for the Milkovich boy. Ian glanced up at him and nuzzled his nose against his neck tiredly. "That was awesome." He said with a sated a smile, closing his eyes and pressing his face against his neck.

"Hn," Mickey hummed quietly, "sure fuckin' was. I haven't come that hard in a long time."

Ian laughed. "Me neither."

It was quiet for a few more minutes, and they simply basked in the torrid heat of the van with its uncomfortable bed and steamed-up windows. They stirred only when they heard the whistle and bang of a firework. They'd been going off in the distance for the past couple of hours, but this one had come from the street. Ian grinned and sat up, crawling over to the back window of the van and wiping away the condensation just in time to catch another one going off.

Mickey smirked from behind him before he leaned down to grab his cigarettes from his jeans. He crawled up to where Ian was now laying down, looking up at the display of illegal fireworks. It was easier to see above the house from this position. Mickey rested his head on his shoulder and placed a cigarette between his lips and the other between Ian's and lit them.

They laid there for some time, the fireworks flashing and illuminating the inside of the van dimly every now and then. After a while though, Ian seemed to get bored, and decided to draw a crude illustration of a penis in the condensation.

Mickey snorted. "Well that's mature." He said.

Ian snickered and then drew a stick man fucking another in the ass with a cock that was half the size of his body, before he drew his name with an arrow pointing to it and then Mickey's pointing to the other, bent over stick man.

Mickey laughed. "Yeah right."

"I didn't hear any complaints just now." Ian said with a smirk.

They watched the fireworks crackle above them for a few more minutes, during which time Mickey drew something of his own above Ian's head.

When Mickey's hand flopped back against his chest, Ian glanced up at it.

It was a heart with the word 'IAN' written on the inside of it.

He blinked incredulously.

"So you can shut up about it now." Mickey mumbled into his chest belligerently.

Ian looked down at him with a surprised smile, and then rolled over on top of him to kiss him passionately, laughing excitedly.

He might not have said it with words, but it got the message across in a way that was uniquely Mickey, and that was enough for Ian.


End file.
